


Bruce Wayne and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

by fearnotthedemons



Series: 7 Day Fic Challenge [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, batfamily, the world falls apart without alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearnotthedemons/pseuds/fearnotthedemons
Summary: Prompt: Alfred takes some time off so the batfam have to actually take care of themselves and it's ATROCIOUS





	Bruce Wayne and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

**Author's Note:**

> i loved writing this prompt bc there was so much room to have fun with it but it also gets progressively worse and for that i apologize - i haven't even read it through all the way so please tell me if there are glaring mistakes (i hope you enjoy the read!!)

“Children, Alfred and I have some news we’d like to share with you,” Bruce Wayne began with a serious expression, scanning the faces gathered in front of him.

 

“What? You pregnant or somethin’, Brucie?” Jason mocked, snickering at his own joke. Dick immediately elbowed him in the ribs and Damian shot an imperious glare towards his second oldest brother. Tim and Cassandra exchanged looks while suppressing giggles. Bruce just pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, steadying breath, causing Jason’s smirk to become - somehow - even more insufferable.

 

“Actually,” he began again, preparing himself for the bombshell he was about to drop. “Alfred will be taking some time off.”

 

Shocked silence permeated Wayne Manor’s richly decorated sitting room as everyone tried to wrap their heads around what Bruce had just said. Alfred take a vacation? Could he even… do that? The old butler was practically a part of the Manor at this point. His life force might expire if he stepped off its grounds!

 

They were all in varying states of denial, but Damian’s response summed it up best:

 

“Tt - No he’s not.”

 

“I’m afraid that I am, Master Damian.”

 

“Really, Alf? You’re gonna leave us with _him_ ?” Jason asked incredulously, pointing towards Bruce with no small amount of disdain. “I know we’re mostly grown now, but god _damn_! Does he even know how to take care of anyone?”

 

Bruce’s face darkened at Jason’s last remark, but Alfred intervened just as he opened his mouth to retort.

 

“Master Jason, I appreciate your concern, but your father is quite capable of taking care of all of you. You might know that if you came to the Manor more often,” the grandfatherly butler added pointedly, holding up a hand to quell Jason’s protest. “The only person Master Bruce has proven quite incapable of taking care of is himself, and I will only be gone for a week. Surely you can all manage a week?” His wise old eyes glistened in good humor as he looked around the room in turn. It was all everyone needed to calm down and finally feel excited for their beloved Alfred.

 

Heaven knew he needed a break.

 

***

Fast forward three days later and Alfred was gone. The whole family saw him off at the airport as he left to meet with some old friends across the pond, smiling and waving to the point that other families started staring. Jason even got a little teary, but when Dick started to tease him he was shoved into oncoming airport traffic.

 

Once the family was back at the Manor was when the true test began. Would they last a full week? It was anyone’s guess. Alfred had faith in them (or at least he said so), but he might have been the only one.

 

***

 

Day 1:

Bruce was, for once in his life, feeling optimistic. Jason had agreed to stay at the Manor for the week to cook for everyone, so Bruce had come downstairs to the heavenly scent of pancakes cooking. The young crime boss even shaped them like batarangs as a joke. It brought a smile to everyone’s face despite their best efforts not to encourage him, and not for the first time Bruce wished his second eldest son would come around more often. One of his greatest regrets was that Jason was so estranged to him, and--

 

No. Happy thoughts. Optimism! Not one of his children had yet tried to kill the others, and Bruce was determined not to squander the good energies.

 

Basking in said energies, Bruce settled on the couch with his “#1 Dad” mug and Sunday newspaper.

 

Damian joined him and clicked the television on. It happened to be on the channel that played cartoons, so the young assassin made the pretense of having it on solely for background noise purposes. It was no secret that he loved those cartoons. In fact, he watched them every weekend, but they let Damian carry on the charade to save his fragile thirteen-year-old dignity.

 

“Tt - Father, why do you read that drivel? Aren’t there better ways to read the news now?” Damian asked in superior tones, still pretending he wasn’t absorbed in the show and never above criticizing his father.

 

“The old man is stuck in his ways, Tater Tot,” Jason cut in, entering from the kitchen and taking off the “Kiss the Chef” apron Dick had given him last Christmas. “‘Sides, there’s just somethin’ about holding it in your hands. You and Timmy are too young to understand.”

 

“Do _not_ compare me to Drake, Todd - And stop calling me that!”

 

“Calling you what, Short Stack?”

 

The youth narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Todd, I _will_ end you.”

 

Jason just scoffed. “With what? All 30 pounds of you? I don’t think so, Fun Size.”

 

That was the last straw. With a defiant yell, Damian launched himself at his older brother, trying to tackle him with all his might. Jason just grinned, and that was when Bruce knew his peaceful Sunday morning was fucked.

 

The aftermath of Jason and Damian’s living room brawl left a broken loveseat, a cracked coffee table, and Damian’s bruised ego as his smaller size inevitably betrayed him. When all 225 pounds of the big bad Red Hood were coming right at him, Damian’s twiggish pre-teen frame really didn’t stand a chance.

 

Several repair bills and a jar of bruise salve later, Bruce had developed a headache that was not to leave him for the remainder of Alfred’s absence.

 

***

 

Day 2:

Bruce tried to have a positive attitude about Monday, but come on. Monday’s sucked no matter how many #positivemondaythoughts posts you liked via Wayne Enterprise’s official Instagram page.

 

He was sitting at the kitchen table browsing Pinterest lunch recipes off of Mom Blogs when Dick came down the main staircase carrying a frankly impressive stack of dirty clothing in his arms.

 

“Hey Bruce!” he called cheerily as he breezed past, the stench of stale body odor wafting behind him.

 

“Dick, don’t we have laundry baskets to sort that?” Bruce asked in lieu of a greeting, staring dismally at the dirty socks now strewn across the previously pristine kitchen floor.

 

“Nobody has time for that!” came his eldest son’s protest, muffled by the mountain of dirty clothing in his arms.

 

Bruce just sighed and went back to his browsing. Dick was an adult now, so surely he could manage a load of laundry on his own. Besides, “10 Ways to Make Lunch Fun for the Whole Family” was shaping up to be a pretty interesting read.

 

Bruce made it an hour into prepwork for Tammy’s healthy, quick, and easy avocado/chicken burrito wraps when he was interrupted by a wail. It was a long, defeated sound that came from the direction of the laundry room. Abandoning his burgeoning creation and inner stay-at-home mom, he went to investigate.

 

Upon his arrival at the room in question, he was met by a very distraught Dick. The twenty-something year old was standing slumped, hand over his mouth, brows raised in disbelief, staring at his load of laundry in despair.

 

It was all blue.

 

Blackish-blue, to be specific, but the tragedy of it all was that some of it had been white before. Dick had made the age old mistake of mixing whites with colors, and it cost him his favorite pair of socks. Needless to say, he was devastated.

 

Bruce was also devastated, but for different reasons. Had he failed Dick so fundamentally that the now-adult couldn’t even do his own laundry? I mean, Bruce had never done laundry a day in his life, but he had also never ruined so many innocent pairs of socks. It was impressive, if depressing, and all Bruce could think to do was pat Dick consolingly on the shoulder.

 

“Son, if it will make you feel any better, lunch will be ready soon. I’m making chicken and avocado burritos.”

Dick just looked up at him with that same face of frozen horror.

 

“You can cook?”

 

***

 

Day 3:

They ran out of coffee and Red Bull mysteriously overnight. Tim had not slept in 72 hours.

 

They spent 24 more trying to get him to “please, for the love of Alfred, lie down!”

 

***

 

Day 4:

Tim, Damian, and Dick collectively managed to set the microwave on fire while making popcorn for an attempted movie night. Jason wasn’t complicit, but he allowed it to happen. Cassandra was Bruce’s only unproblematic child, and the current favorite as a result.

 

He wished desperately that Alfred’s vacation was shorter.

 

***

 

Day 5:

There were still two days before Alfred’s return, but Bruce was convinced that the five days he had survived thus far had already significantly shortened his lifespan. How did Alfred do it? They were lost without him.

 

He hid in his office while Cassandra and Jason took on the rest of the kids in an all-out nerf war. Somehow in all the action, they blew the power out, leaving Bruce to sit in the dark brooding silently at their half-hearted apologies shouted from various locations throughout the Manor.

 

Cassandra was still the favorite.

 

***

 

Day 6:

Why did he adopt so many kids, again??

 

***

 

Day 7:

Finally. The day of blessed release; Alfred was coming home.

 

His flight came in at noon, and Bruce was heading what was potentially the largest cleaning excursion Wayne Manor had yet seen. Jason cleaned the kitchen with a fervor, scrubbing pots and pans as they had never been scrubbed before. Tim worked on repairing and resetting all electronics damaged in their epic nerf battle. He was also responsible for the restoration of their violated coffee machine (“It’s not supposed to automatically put Red Bull in the coffee, Tim!”), but he didn’t see what was wrong with it. Damian oversaw the living room’s reconstruction from his fight with Jason. It turned out he was very good at standing atop a pile of couch cushions and giving imperious directions to the poor workers they hired. Cassandra was responsible for the little details. Every family portrait, every oriental rug and imported vase, was set back in its rightful place. After his spectacular laundry fail, Dick was left with floor duty (“At least you won’t stain the mop blue, birdbrain!”).

 

Bruce just poured a shot into his morning coffee and prayed.

 

Alfred arrived at precisely 12:45 to find the Manor spotless and the entire family standing in the foyer waiting for him.

 

“Welcome home!” Bruce smiled upon seeing him, trying to suppress the desperate note in his voice. “We missed you.”

 

Alfred pulled him into a hug, and soon everyone else joined in. Bruce let all of the tension from the past week leave his body in a big exhale, finally relaxing and breathing into his beloved butler’s shoulder, “God, did we miss you.”

 

***

 

Alfred, while pleased to see that the house had not fallen down in his absence, did not believe Bruce when he said everything went smoothly. The desperate look in his eyes and the guilty smiles of the children told a story entirely in opposition of the one their mouths relayed.

 

Also, he had direct access to the security cameras and saw all of the crazy shit that went down without him.

 

He never did take another vacation after that.

 


End file.
